


Open Wounds

by trash_kid



Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Enola Holmes Series - Nancy Springer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26791195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_kid/pseuds/trash_kid
Summary: "Is this monogrammed with your name?"Tewkesbury chuckled. "Do you honestly expect anything less from a nincompoop?"This is the story of what happens immediately after the Dowager tries to kill Tewkesbury and Enola.
Relationships: Enola Holmes/Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury
Comments: 43
Kudos: 744





	1. bath

“Your time is over.”

The Dowager gaped, disbelieving the fact that two underage children managed to not only stop her, but kill Linthorn—a profession in the field of assasination—in the process. Ninety one years of her life was dedicated to furthering the Old English agenda. In one night, everything she built went crashing down. Her eyes glazed over as they focused on nothing.

Conflicted at the path before him, the Viscount Tewkesbury gulped. This was his _grandmother_ , for God’s sake. If she were any other person in the world, anyone at all, he wouldn’t have hesitated to incarcerate them. Alas, he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. This woman raised him. She loved him, nurtured him… or so he thought. It didn’t make sense.

Enola immediately felt Tewkesbury hesitate. It didn’t take a detective to figure out that he was at odds with himself, and it showed through his shallow breaths, darting eyes, and creased brows. Enola tentatively raised her hand and enclosed his within hers. Tewkesbury’s head turned and the two locked eyes.

At once, his uncertainties were quashed. One look from her communicated everything. Her warm walnut gaze reminded him that everything was going to be okay, and that they were in it together.

He gave her a small smile.

“You know what we have to do,” said he.

Enola nodded, fixing her eyes once again on the Dowager, who looked absolutely destroyed. Together, the pair walked towards her. 

Tewkesbury’s nostrils flared when the Dowager said, “No, please. You mustn't. I’m–I’m old. Nearly dying. You won’t do this to me, will you, Tewkey?” She used her own term of endearment for the young man who was slipping through her brittle fingers.

“You tried to kill me, Nan,” he said. “You hired an assassin. You even…” Tewkesbury gulped. “You even pulled the trigger.”

Tewkesbury and Enola then escorted her into the dark living room where she sat on an antique upholstered armchair, crying. The minutes passed in silence. Enola shook her head disapprovingly at the woman. She looked over at Tewkesbury and found his expression locked in a grimace. There was something she needed to tell him. She pulled him aside and led him to the corner of the room.

“I’ve got to go to Scotland Yard to report this to Lestrade immediately,” said Enola.

He took a deep breath. “Yes,” was all he managed to say.

“Are you going to be alright?” She asked, caressing her thumb against the back of his hand. “I could stay and watch the Dowager with you if you can’t. We’ll go to Scotland Yard tomorrow.”

“No, no,” he protested. “I’m fine. You go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Enola’s shoulders sagged as she softened at the sight of this boy. She dropped his hand and in one swift motion, threw her arms around him in a fierce hug. “This can’t be easy for you,” she said. “And I understand if you don’t want to be left alone with her.”

His arms encircled her and his hands connected at the small of her back. “It’s alright, I do. Besides, there are some things we need to talk about.”

Enola nodded. “Well, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

They pulled away. Tewkesbury said, “I’ll wait for you.”

With one last sad smile, Enola turned away from him and walked outside. Tewkesbury stilled for a few seconds at the sound of Miss Harrison’s motor car. The dull sputtering of the engine was the only noise that broke the silence of the night, but all too soon, it was gone.

For the next couple of minutes, Tewkesbury stayed rooted in that spot, taking deep, even breaths. From his standpoint, he could see the back of the Dowager’s bowed head. Finally, he took one step, two, three, five steps away from the window and towards the dark wooden armchair across from his grandmother. 

“I assume you wouldn't oblige if I ask you to fetch me a carriage.”

Tewkesbury kept his tone even. “You’re correct.”

“You can’t possibly let them take me,” said the Dowager. “I’m your father’s mother. I’m family.”

He glared at the floor, unable to meet her gaze. “That’s rich, Nan, coming from you.”

“Isn’t blood thicker than water, Tewkey?”

“Apparently not.”

“Well, I—”

Tewkesbury interrupted her, shooting up from the sofa across the room. He stalked towards her slowly. “You betrayed me, Nan. _You_ , of all people. I trusted you. I didn’t doubt you for a second. You betrayed me, and you betrayed my parents.” He paused, heaving. The Dowager’s big eyes stared him down to show that she was unmoving. 

And then, “who killed Father, Nan?”

Silence followed his inquiry. The loaded question weighed heavily on the occupants of the room, not allowing either individual to breathe. She stared indignantly.

“ _Who_?” If looks could kill, daggers would have impaled the old woman from the hairs on her head to the soles on her feet.

The Dowager did not give him a verbal reply, but the split second her eyes darted to the dead body outside of the living room told him everything he needed to know. It was the man in the bowler hat. 

_Linthorn_.

“That was you? You asked him to… kill Father? ”

She said nothing.

“You’d do that to your own _son_? Nana... you’re a monster.”

Tewkesbury’s posture crumbled on the spot as he was hit by one emotional blow after the other. He blindly reached for the chair’s armrest and used it to anchor himself back on the seat. He could not believe that this was happening. His head dropped into his hands, and he allowed himself to mourn. He mourned for his father, but this time, for completely different reasons, now that he knew the truth. Warm tears moistened the rug underneath and sobs wracked his body painfully.

The Dowager remained silent for a few minutes, allowing her grandson to simmer in the revelations. 

After some time, she spoke. “Tewkey,” she said. “Will you remind me again of what’s written on our family crest?”

He looked up, his red-rimmed and puffy eyes on display for her. “What?”

She repeated, “remind me again of what’s written on our family crest.”

He vaguely remembered the golden seal of lions, eagles, and a suit of armour that was suspended above the front gates of the estate. As a young boy, his family always reminded him of the motto on that crest, but he never really thought it meant anything substantial. 

“ _Honorum et officium_ ,” recited Tewkesbury.

“Correct. _Honorum et officium_.” The Dowager was pleased. “In English, that’s—”

“—Honor and duty.” Tewkesbury finished. 

She smiled kindly. “So you understand. As the world grows increasingly unstable, it is important that these ideas of England are preserved for the safety and security of our country. You and your father, you are always focused on what is to be instead of what is and what was. Nothing needs changing, Tewkey. Look around you. England’s true glory is what is.”

He shook his head. “I look around me, Nan, and I see poverty. I see famine, injustice, and _hate_ , and that is nothing short of what England’s true glory is.”

The Dowager scoffed and brushed him off with a wave of her hand. “You’re too young to know about such things, boy. I wouldn't expect you to understand. Perhaps you should read the Tewkesbury motto one more time. Maybe then, you’ll realize my point.”

“This is unbelievable. You… you’d kill your own grandson, you’d kill your own son… over a _motto_?” He was absolutely appalled. This woman managed to deceive everyone in her life, and no one would remain the wiser if Enola hadn’t figured it out.

“Our family’s values were set in stone since the day I was born—”

“Yes, but no one would go so far as to _kill_ because of it!” He exclaimed. In that instant, he felt himself unraveling at the seams once again. He felt his whole body tremble and shake like a leaf in the wind, and without Enola there to anchor him, he felt lost. This woman in front of him who he thought he knew from infancy was a complete stranger.

“Tewkey—”

“No.”

The Dowager leaned forward and tried to reason with him. “Tewkey, it was the only way—”

“No more, Nan. No more of this deception. I’ve had enough.” Tewkesbury stood from the upholstered armchair and began walking away. It wasn’t like she could leave Basilwether, anyway. It was half-past nine in the evening and her brittle body wouldn’t withstand a second outdoors. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t sit there and let her talk him into her agenda. It was not going to happen.

“Where are you going?”

Tewkesbury chose not to dignify her with an answer. Instead, he merely continued walking away until he was no longer in her line of vision. As soon as he was out of the living room, he leaned on the dark wooden panels and attempted to pull himself together. 

At that moment, Tewkesbury wished he’d taken up Enola’s offer to stay. He would have given anything to turn back time and have her with him again. This was too much for him. 

His back slid down the wood, and once again, waves of agony and betrayal washed over him violently. The Dowager would probably have heard his cries from the other side of the wall, but he found himself uncaring. She had almost killed him and Enola, the same way she killed his father.

After a few minutes of sitting on the checker-patterned floor, Tewkesbury started to worry about Enola’s whereabouts. He started to grow more anxious when the old grandfather clock in the living room chimed eleven times. Every silent second that passed was torture. He eagerly waited for the sound of her stolen motor car making its way down Basilwether Hall’s stone pavement.

Instead of allowing the restlessness from the Dowager’s revelations and Enola’s absence to engulf him again, he pushed it out completely. He would deal with _that_ later. For now, he realized that both he and Enola would have to stay at Basilwether Hall after Investigator Lestrade takes his grandmother away. 

At that, he immediately stood from his spot on the floor and hurriedly rushed up the stairs. He went straight to his mother’s rooms and browsed her collection of old nightgowns from her youth. He picked out three that he assumed would best fit Enola, as he wasn’t going to let her sleep in the bloodied uniform of Miss Harrison’s Finishing School. He took them with him to his own rooms and laid them neatly on the bed.

Tewkesbury quickly found himself with nothing to do. Shortly, the Dowager’s chilling words replayed itself in his mind. The look on her face when he guessed it was she who killed his Father was cold and unkind. 

_No._ He shook his head vigorously as if that motion alone would sufficiently rid him of the depressing thoughts. Instead, he opted to busy himself once again by running a bath.

The Viscount Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether was never one to skimp on indulgences, especially when flora was involved. Every single bath of his life was prolonged as much as possible. Whenever he would take baths, he never took them plainly with just water. Instead, he always made time to boil it, mix it with the cold so it wasn’t too hot, sprinkle bath salts, and infuse his tub with fragrant-smelling herbs and flowers that even his mother called excessive. But today, he bathed in nothing but freezing water, for he was hurrying just in case the sound of Enola’s motor car broke the silence. He noticed that there was a massive purple bruise blooming in his chest from where the Dowager had shot him—the spot where the bullet would have punctured his skin—and it grew tender when his fingers brushed over the area lightly. He winced. There were also long streaks of open wounds on his neck from where Linthorn tried suffocating him. The bathwater quickly pinked at the blood.

After Tewkesbury had long finished drying his hair and body, dressing in his bedtime clothes, and draining the bath, Enola was still nowhere to be found. He paced back and forth, burning a hole into the rug. He stared out the window, checked on the Dowager thrice, and added two more nightgowns to the ones on his bed for Enola to choose from, but she was still missing. Tewkesbury decided to run another bath, then. A bath just for her. 

He took his time to go through the motions of his regular soak. He mixed hot and cold water, sprinkled bath salts, and infused the tub with flowers from his collection. Chamomile to soothe her skin, lotus to reduce anxiety, and lavender to relieve her stress. He knew she would need them. After all, he wasn’t the only one who had gone through horse dung tonight. She had killed a man. Tewkesbury was willing to bet his inheritance that she hadn’t killed anyone before Linthorn.

Finally _, finally_ , a little past midnight, the telltale sound of a sputtering motor caught his attention. It grew louder and louder, as well as the sound of galloping horses and chattering men. 

Enola was back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all! this work is unfinished jus letting u know :)
> 
> i wrote this because i think that so much more things happened on that night that they didn't include like how Tewkesbury confronted his nana after she tried to shoot him and other stuff like that. 
> 
> stay tuned for part 2 (and maybe even 3!!)
> 
> ily.


	2. laced fingers

_Enola was back_. 

Tewkesbury rushed downstairs and flew by the Dowager—who was staring blankly at the floor—and threw the front doors open.

Outside, he was greeted by a team of five law enforcers, Investigator Lestrade, and of course, Enola herself. He approached them.

“Ah,” said Lestrade. “You must be the Viscount.”

“I am.” He shook the man’s hand.

“Enola’s told me all about you.”

“So you already know that my—”

“Your grandmother tried to kill you, yes.”

“And she also—”

“She also killed your father.”

“And there’s a—”

“There’s a dead body in the foyer.”

Tewkesbury nodded once.

“Anything else?” The investigator cocked his head.

“You’ve pretty much covered it.”

“Excellent!” Lestrade exclaimed. “Now that we’re all up to speed, gentlemen…” The investigator led the way into Basilwether, and his tiny army trailed behind him, almost comically.

“Insufferable, isn’t he?”

Tewkesbury turned and was faced with Enola. Despite the dark turnout of events that evening, he could not fight the smile threatening to take over his face at the sight of her. She looked stunning. She always looked stunning, even with her hair unkempt, a ripped collar, and a bloodied forehead. He doubted there would ever be a time when she was not stunning.

“Hi,” he said rather stupidly.

Enola raised a skeptical brow at him, but smirked nonetheless. Her smile faded when she said, “how was the talk?”

“Good,” he lied.

Enola only sighed and stared at him, letting him know that she didn’t believe him. Graciously, though, she didn’t push it. Together, they walked back inside the house, where Lestrade and another uniformed man interrogated the Dowager. The rest of the men were extracting Linthorn’s body from the foyer.

“...charged with first-degree murder,” Lestrade had been saying.

“No, no, it’s not true, Investigator. Please, I’m only a widow. Y–you can’t possibly believe these children.” Her silk handkerchief was clutched in one shaky hand.

He huffed. “These… _children_ have very convincing arguments.”

“They lie, Mr. Lestrade—”

“The audacity,” said Tewkesbury, suddenly appearing from behind Enola. “After everything we’ve talked about, everything you’ve admitted when we were alone, you still lie?”

The Dowager raised her chin indignantly. “I am not lying, boy. How dare you disrespect your grandmother?”

He stalked towards her slowly, his eyes narrowed. “How dare _I?_ How dare _I_ , Nan?” He shook his head. “How dare _you_ ! How dare you kill my father, pull the trigger on me, admit it to my face, and then _lie_ in front of the Investigator? How could you be so _cruel_ , Nan?” Enola touched the back of his right shoulder blade comfortingly. “I loved you my whole life, but now, I’m ashamed of you. I’m ashamed of being related to you, and I’m ashamed to be standing in the same room as you.”

The Dowager grimaced, looking at her feet. It was only in that moment when she felt truly remorseful for what she had done to her own family.

Lestrade asked quietly, “are the accusations true, Madam?”

The Dowager nodded.

“Just as I thought.” The Investigator said.

Enola stood next to Lestrade and said quietly, “If you need further proof, try analyzing her fingerprints and matching them to the one on the gun’s trigger.” Lestrade raised his brows at the idea, obviously skeptical. “Trust me. One day, it will make all the difference,” she said. Finally, the Investigator nodded, writing something down on a small notepad, and resumed his questioning. He asked her about her plans when she killed her own son and the reason for all of this. As soon as the Investigator began delving more into detail, Enola pulled Tewkesbury away. He was shaking.

As they waited for the job to be done, they sat side-by-side on an antique-looking sofa on the other side of the room. 

In order to distract him, Enola said, “Lestrade sent a telegram for your mother and uncle.”

“He did?”

She nodded. “I expect they’ll be arriving soon. Possibly tomorrow.”

Tewkesbury’s eyes followed the men carrying a large burlap sack, presumably containing the body. He said, “then we’ve got to leave before they get here.”

“Hmm?” Enola cocked her head in confusion.

“So they won’t catch us. We’ll leave Basilwether Hall at dawn.”

She was quiet for a few moments. “You don’t need to leave,” she said.

“Yes, we do. Otherwise, your brothers are going to find out, and you’ll be taken to that godforsaken finishing school again—”

“No, Tewkesbury.” Enola paused. “ _You_ don’t need to leave. You’ve got to stay here.”

 _Oh_. 

Well, this was unexpected. Tewkesbury had always assumed that they’d stick together after everything. He didn’t think Enola would want to rid herself of him this soon.

“Well… what if I don’t want to?”

“You can’t.” Tewkesbury opened his mouth to protest, but Enola hushed him with a look. “You’re a Viscount and a Marquess, Tewk. You’ve got the opportunity to vote—to tip the scales. An opportunity as great as that… it shouldn’t be wasted.”

She was right. Of course she was right, when was she ever wrong?

Reluctantly, he nodded his head. “I—yeah. Okay. I’ll… yeah. I’ll stay.”

She smiled sadly, turning her head towards Lestrade, who was escorting the Dowager out of the room.

Out of the blue, Tewkesbury blurted, “stay with me.”

Enola’s head swiveled so quickly, he was afraid she might get whiplash. “What?”

“Just for tonight.” Of course, the Marquess had every intention of attempting to convince her to stay every night and day hereafter, but he wasn’t about to tell her anytime soon. “I’ve already prepared a nice, hot bath, five options of my mother’s old nightgowns that would fit you best, and my own personal bed chambers. They’re all for you.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“And you wouldn’t,” he claimed. “If in the morning you still want to leave, you can. Right after the servants make breakfast—”

She frowned. “I don’t know how I feel about servants just yet—”

“Then I’ll cook for you,” he earnestly insisted. “I’ll make you a feast, myself.” His eyes pleading imploringly. “Just… stay tonight. It’s not safe out there. You can leave in the morning, if you like.”

Enola raised a brow skeptically.

“I promise I won’t stop you.”

She bit the inside of her cheek and looked away, contemplating her decision. “And… and where will you be sleeping?”

He smiled, convinced that he had won her over. “In my mother’s bed chambers. Don’t worry, I’ll not disturb you.”

Enola smirked. “You drive a hard bargain, Lord Tewkesbury. I’ll think about it.”

He beamed.

On the other side of the room, Investigator Lestrade said, “Well, I suppose we’re all done here.” He looked around the grand room, taking in all the dark wooden accents, works of art, and truly priceless architecture. 

Enola stood. “Thank you, Lestrade.”

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Holmes.” Lestrade bowed lowly. Perhaps a little _too_ lowly, but neither teen decided not to dwell on it. 

And with that, Tewkesbury showed him out, Enola trailing behind. He caught a glimpse of the Dowager inside the dark carriage, a somber expression on her face. Soon, the horses took them all away.

Tewkesbury showed Enola to his rooms. Once they entered, the aromas of the different salts and flowers stewing in the bath immediately engulfed them. Everything smelled of a sweet summer day. Enola took a deep breath and sighed. Tewkesbury showed her to the loo, the sitting room, and the wardrobe. He also showed her the selection of nightgowns from his mother’s closet. Enola was pleased to see that all of the options were modest, shapeless, and made of soft fabrics—she was certain they would all be comfortable to wear.

Enola was left alone to bathe. The tub looked most inviting, what with its colorful, hand-picked flowers floating about and steam billowing up into the ceiling. She spent a great deal of time submerged underwater. She didn’t understand how he knew exactly what she needed at that moment. An hour later, she reluctantly stepped out of the tub and donned one of the nightgowns he had picked. It fit well, of course, albeit a little loose along the chest, but Enola had no complaints.

When she stepped into the bedroom, Tewkesbury was standing a few feet away with his back facing her, fluffing one of the pillows on the bed. A slow smile spread on her face.

She cleared her throat and the Marquess sprung back, throwing the offending object on the bed. “I–I was just making sure the pillows are comfortable,” he said hastily.

Enola approached him tentatively. “Thank you for the bath. It was divine.”

A shade the color of peonies quickly spread across his face. “You’re very welcome.” Her long chestnut ringlets were damp from the bath. Tewkesbury reached around her for his hairbrush and offered it. 

She took it and chuckled. “Is this monogrammed with your name?”

He chuckled. “Do you honestly expect anything less from a nincompoop?”

She outright laughed and shoved his arm playfully. He gazed at her, entranced by the floral scent emanating from her person. _She smells like me_ , he realized. _She smells like I do after a long bath._ His eyes focused on her faze, zeroing in on something on her forehead. And then—

“You’ve got an open wound,” realized Tewkesbury.

Enola blinked twice before recalling the blow to the head she had taken from Linthorn earlier that evening. She placed her palm over the affected area. “Oh, right. It’s okay, it’ll heal on its own.”

He frowned. “Not if it’s still bleeding, it won’t. Might get infected, too, if you keep touching it like that."

Her hand dropped to the side. “Well, it’s—”

But he was already out the door. “Stay right there.”

Enola sighed and plopped down on the bed. He was right. It _was_ comfortable. Fit for a king, a queen, or in this case, a Marquess. She ran his monogrammed brush through her hair repeatedly, drying it with linen sheets. Soon, Tewkesbury returned with a clove of garlic in one hand and a green pointed object in the other.

“What are those?”

“Herbal remedies for open wounds. These are the only things I’ve got because I don’t have access to the medicines in my uncle’s locked rooms. Will these be alright?”

Enola eyed them. “Seeing as I wouldn’t have treated the wound anyway, those are fine.”

He sat next to her on the bed and asked for her to lie on his lap. She hesitated for a moment but complied anyway. If Enola had to trust Tewkesbury for anything, it was botany. 

The clove of garlic was unpleasant, but necessary to cleanse the wound, he said. He gently dabbed it over the laceration. Enola hissed in pain, but otherwise did nothing else to protest.

From this angle, he could see her much better. The feather-like quality of her lashes, the swoop of her nose, the high of her cheeks, and the roundness of her lips. He pretended to focus on her wound and he even prolonged the moment a little bit more by dabbing outside the infected area. Afterward, he took the aloe vera leaf and pried it open, allowing the clear substance to trickle down into her wound.

“That feels nice,” said Enola, marveling at the substance’s coolness. “What is it?”

“Aloe vera. It has great soothing properties and it also prevents inflammation.”

“It’s wonderful.”

Tewkesbury smiled. “Yes, it is.”

They took comfort in silence for a while as he treated her forehead.

Tewkesbury was so focused on getting the aloe substance into the wound that he had almost missed the single tear that slipped out from Enola’s eye.

“Enola?” He stopped his ministrations on her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and brought her hands to her face, covering her eyes from view. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Tewkesbury brushed the hair back from her face. “You can tell me anything.”

She sniffled, digging her palms over her eyes in an attempt to stop the tears. He gave her a few minutes to breathe. Enola gingerly sat up from his lap, brushing the same stubborn locks of hair away. All the while, Tewkesbury’s arms hovered in the air, uncertain at whether or not she needed his assistance. As usual, she did not.

“I…” Enola began. Tewkesbury patiently waited for her to speak. “I killed a man today.” Her body shuddered as a sob escaped her. “I didn’t even know he would die. I thought I’d just knock him unconscious so I could deal with him later, but then his head landed on the–the pointy wooden thing—I don’t even know what it’s called—” she exclaimed helplessly ”—and then he just bled out—”

“Enola, Enola,” Tewkesbury coaxed. “Shh…” He wrapped his arms around her trembling figure and pulled her close to his chest. He rocked her back and forth in an attempt to calm her down. She wept against him and her hot tears stained his shirt.

“I’m a murderer,” she mumbled hatefully. “A murderer at sixteen.”

“You are not,” he objected, pulling away from her and prying her hands away from her face. “You are not. You didn’t know he would die. That was never your intent, Enola. You were only defending us.” His thumb caressed her cheekbone gently, brushing a fat teardrop away. 

Enola shook her head, irritated at the tears that continued to spill over. “I took away someone’s life. That man could have children at home who are waiting for him to come back, only to find out that he never will…”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

She said nothing. His eyes darted down to her fist clutching the sheets tightly. He gently placed his hand atop hers and massaged it until her grip loosened. He interlaced their fingers in the same way she had done a few hours ago, after the Dowager had shot him. “I’m a murderer,” she repeated.

“Stop that,” Tewkesbury said firmly. “Stop calling yourself that.” He placed his hands on either side of her face, cupping it gently. “Because it’s not true.”

“But it is, Tewkesbury,” her brows drew closer together. “I. Killed. Someone. Can’t you see? Who am I to take another person’s life? I–I should have been punished. I should have asked Lestrade—”

Enola didn’t get to finish her thought as a violent shudder coursed through her. She trembled and sobbed and wailed convulsively. Tewkesbury was lost. He never needed to console a woman who had killed someone before. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her. All the while, Enola was rambling on about punishments and murder and moral obligations incoherently.

“...throw me in prison… deserve it… Mycroft was right… should have stayed… Miss Harrison... not innocent… life sentence… only sixteen… only _sixteen!_ ” She pulled away, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “How am I going to live like this? Knowing I killed someone? Tewkesbury, the guilt… it’s going to eat me up, and I can’t–I can’t—”

“You are not guilty, Enola. You’ve got it completely wrong,” he assured her. “Personally, I think you did the world a favor. He was an occupational assassin. It’s his job to kill. Did you know he killed my father?”

Enola shook her head slowly.

“Who knows who else died at his hands. You definitely saved more lives than you took.”

Her eyes dropped to her hands as she contemplated this. He saw the conflict raging in her eyes as reason and logic tried to win over her self-loathing. Tewkesbury added, “besides, if you didn’t do what you did, we’d both be dead by now. You were very heroic, you know.” He gave her a small smile and took her hand again.

She returned it, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you for trying to cheer me up, Tewks… but I think… I think I need time to mull it over a little, and I…” she paused, sighing. “I don’t really want to talk about it anymore.”

He nodded, eyes still locked on their interlaced fingers atop the bed. “I understand. Take as much time as you need.” 

When he looked up to see her expression, he realized that their faces were very close. So close, in fact, that if he were to lean in just a little closer, he would surely feel her warm breath dance across his skin. Just a little closer...

The two sprung apart like repelling magnets. 

They each looked everywhere else except each other, unbeknownst that their faces were exactly the same shade of scarlet. Tewkesbury cleared his throat and Enola pulled her hand out of his, fiddling with her thumbs. 

Tewkesbury stood. “Well,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Good night, Enola.” 

His feet turned into lead as he traveled the distance from the bed to the door. He stumbled and tripped, barely managing to get there in one piece. It seemed as if his whole body wanted to—

“Stay.”

Tewkesbury stopped in his tracks. He turned slowly, taking in the image of Enola in the glowing moonlight.

She averted her gaze, picking at a loose thread of the nightgown. “Stay,” she paused. “Only… only if you want to, of course. I’m not forcing you.”

A small smile slowly took over Tewkesbury’s face. He crossed his arms and leisurely shifted his weight to lean on the door frame, propping his foot behind the other. “Why, Miss Holmes… does that not seem a tad inappropriate to you?”

She tried to hide her smirk. “Since when do _you_ care about propriety?”

Tewkesbury laughed dashingly. 

After a few seconds, he said, “alright.”

“Hmm?” Enola’s eyes snapped to his. 

“I’ll stay.” 

He made his way to the bed, snuffing out candles as he passed by. He was on the right side whereas Enola was on the left. The pair pulled the blankets over themselves and lied on opposite ends, awkwardly trying to create as much space as possible between them. 

The night was silent apart from the sound of two synchronized hearts pumping to the same beat. 

After a few minutes of the two of them unspeaking and staring only at the canopy above, Enola whispered, “how are _you_ feeling?” 

She spoke so quietly, he almost didn’t hear her. But when he did, his head turned to the left. She was still looking up at the ceiling and blinking slowly. “I’m feeling alright,” he said. 

“What did your grandmother say?”

“The usual. I’m sure you already know the gist.”

“Tewkesbury,” she said tenderly, turning to face him. Their eyes met. “You can tell me anything.” Enola echoed his previous words back to him. 

He gulped and averted his gaze, facing the canopy once again. “She said… she said she did it over our family motto. _Honorum et officium_. She killed my father and she tried to kill me over it.” 

Enola listened patiently. 

“Strangest thing is,” he blinked a few times. “There’s still a part of me that believes she’s innocent. That this was all orchestrated by a bigger, more mysterious figure.” He laughed darkly, incredulously. “Maybe it’s just the denial talking, but… I can’t help but hope it’s real.”

Slowly, Enola inched her hand across the bed, and tentatively touched his own. He looked at her. “Thank you for telling me that,” she said. “It’s perfectly normal, you know. She was your grandmother after all. Sometimes I forget how much familial attachments mean to us.” At the back of her mind, her own mother’s kind and loving face flashed. She smiled. 

“This is something my mother, my uncle, and I need to talk about when they get here.” He paused. “I don’t know if I can, honestly.” 

“It’s alright. I’m sure they wouldn’t ask you right away. Your mother and uncle care about you a great deal. I’ve met them, you see. I pretended to be a widow so I could track you down.”

He smirked, eyes twinkling in the dark. “Did you really?”

She giggled, nodding. “Missus May Beatrice Posy, at your service.”

“You truly are a sight for sore eyes, Enola Holmes.”

She scoffed. “An eyesore, more like.”

Together, they fell into a pit of laughter. 

Tewkesbury was not a stranger to musical masterpieces composed by virtuosos from the past. He dearly loved to listen to music... did it as often as he could, in fact. But at that moment, he decided that his favorite sound in the world was Enola’s laugh. He was enchanted. The sound was incomparable to preludes and crescendos and trills. It was unlike anything he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing before. He then made it his life’s mission to get her to laugh like that at every chance he got.

“We’ve been through so much tonight, don’t you think?” Enola asked, the remnants of her laugh still echoing and ricochetting on the walls.

“Yes, we have.”

“I think it’s time for us to get some sleep. I… I’ve still got to get up early tomorrow so I can go,” she reminded him. At that, Tewkesbury was saddened at the prospect of maybe never seeing her again. He knew she was a busy girl, what with the hunt for her mother, and the run from her brothers. He had just assumed that they were going to stick together.

Instead of telling her everything on his mind, he merely laced their fingers together and said, “alright. Good night, Enola Holmes.”

She smiled. “Good night, Viscount Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi lovelies! hope you liked this chapter 💖 I'll be uploading the last one in a few days, so stay tuned for that! Thank you for all your comments, know that I appreciate them so much and they never fail to put a smile on my face. 
> 
> ily.


	3. motor car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin, I just want to address one of the comments about how they shouldn’t have shared a bed. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion and I’m grateful someone pointed this out so I can explain why I did it. Enola was founded on the premise that she does not follow the rules. That’s kind of the whole plot of the movie/books. She generally gives 0 fucks about the rules, hence the cross-dressing and escaping. In many ways, she was born in the wrong era. She is not a “lady”, and I think the movie worked hard to establish that fact from beginning to end. Also, keep in mind that the sharing of a bed was post-trauma. They did not share a bed because they felt like it, rather, they did it because companionship was a necessity after a night like that. Now, IF they did something other than lie next to each other (u kno what i mean), THEN that would be uncharacteristic.
> 
> I generally prefer showing rather than telling, but it seems like I might have glazed over this bit. Sorry for the misunderstanding!
> 
> Without further ado, here’s chapter three!

Warm.

Tewkesbury was warm.

Where did it come from? The curtains were drawn, the candles unlit and they were still well into spring. Why was he feeling warm? Strangely, in fact, only one side of him was warm. He tentatively opened his eyes to see that it was early in the morning. Birds were singing, the nearby creek was rushing, and Enola was lying next to him.

_ Wait… Enola was… what? _

Suddenly, the events of the previous day came rushing back to him all at once. The escape from Miss Harrison’s, the return to Basilwether Hall, the death of Linthorn, and the Dowager’s betrayal. He then distinctly remembered that he and Enola slept on the same bed, though he did not remember them being as close as this.

She was lying on half of his chest with her arm around his torso.

_ Enola was a cuddler _ , he realized. This piece of information was something he was not willing to share with her—she would surely deny it.

Tewkesbury smiled, immediately wide awake. He had never been this close to a girl before. Not in parties, balls, dances, and certainly not in places as private as a bedroom. One of the perks of being so, well... rich was that not once in his life had he ever shared his sleeping space with anyone, not even his parents. This was new.

He observed her quietly. Her face was void of tension, completely relaxed in slumber, save for the smallest of smiles upturning her slightly parted lips. Her eyes were not completely shut. A small portion of the whites was visible, making her the absolute picture of serenity. 

As the minutes went by, a thin sliver of butter-yellow sunlight happened to illuminate her hair. He had never seen a shade of brown more vibrant, more alive. From his perspective, Enola looked like she had a halo. It suited her beautifully. He realized how apt a halo was for her, as she was his angel, after all. She saved his life multiple times and never asked for anything in return.

Tewkesbury noticed her deep breaths getting shallower and shallower, and he came to the conclusion that she was waking up. Quickly, he pretended to be asleep to avoid getting caught staring.

Enola tensed against him. He could tell that she was now awake from the gasp that escaped her lips, as well as the discreet but quick disentangling she was doing from him. No doubt, she was mortified.

She rolled away completely, her back now facing him. He sneaked a glance at her and saw that her hands were at her temples and she was shaking her head aggressively as if she were chastising herself. 

She did not go back to sleep, he quickly surmised. She merely lied on her side and let her mind take her places he knows not. He wondered what she was thinking of. Was she thinking about him?

_ Probably not, _ Tewkesbury thought.  _ She’s probably thinking of leaving soon. _

The truth was a dunk in an ice bath. 

A few minutes went by with neither of them moving to get up. Then, Tewkesbury heard the distinct rumble of a hungry stomach. From the corner of his eye, Enola clutched her middle.

He decided to ‘wake up’, so to speak. Making a spectacle of it, he stretched his arms and legs and yawned not-so-quietly to let Enola know he was awake. Tewkesbury sat up on the bed and glanced at her. Her eyes were closed shut… no, they were  _ clenched _ shut. She was pretending, too. 

“Good morning, Enola.” Tewkesbury’s voice was deep and raspy, thick with sleep.

She ignored him, feigning slumber. He laughed fondly. 

He sluggishly stood from the bed and made his way to the dressing room, where he splashed his face and changed his clothes for the day. He heard no noise coming from the bedroom, so he suspected that Enola was still keeping up the charade.

He was right. When he walked back into the room, she was now lying on her back, her eyes still clenched. Now that he knew exactly how she looked when asleep, he was not fooled. 

Enola’s hunger made itself known once again. At that, Tewkesbury chuckled and straightened up, making his way out of the room. 

Once the door was gently shut, he headed downstairs where the estate’s servants gaped and stared at him in disbelief. The room fell quiet.

“Hello,” he greeted them. “Good morning to you, Mildred, Walter, Mr. Brighton.” Tewkesbury greeted three out of the sixteen servants milling about.

Nobody greeted back, as was the usual protocol at Basilwether hall. They only gawked. Tewkesbury shrugged and headed to the kitchen. He asked two servants to fetch him the ingredients for a tomato omelette with a side of mashed potatoes and gravy.

As he was washing a pan he would be using for cooking, it slipped his grasp and noisily collided with the sink. To the normal person, the sound was not very loud. However, for Tewkesbury, it was deafening. In his head, he heard the sound of the Dowager’s fired bullet colliding with the metal on his chest. Slowly, a chill made its way down his spine, causing him to shudder. He closed his eyes and focused on calming his erratic breaths. He counted.  _ One, two, three, four… _

After sixty-four counts, Tewkesbury was able to get a hold of himself. His breathing was stabilized once again, and he was able to open his eyes. He repeated to himself:  _ it was just the pan. It was just the pan. It was just the pan. _

Finally, he took one big breath and shook his head to expel the toxic thoughts. He had a trigger, he realized. Loud noises.

Soon, Tewkesbury cooked up a meal for himself and Enola. No servant dared to approach him or ask where he’d been. They hadn’t even asked him about the bloodstains in the foyer. To confirm whether or not they spotted it, he stepped into the receiving room and found the checkered tiles to be spotless. He knew for a fact that Lestrade’s men hadn’t mopped up the mess, so he figured that one of the servants had done it earlier today.

One of the servants offered to set the table with dishes, flowers, and placemats, but Tewkesbury politely declined her offer, claiming that he wished to do it all himself. The servant bowed and walked away.

Just as he was placing the last garnish on the omelettes, Enola appeared in front of him. She was clad in the same bloodied clothes she wore from last night—his mother’s night shift left upstairs.

“Why have you got that on?” asked Tewkesbury in lieu of a greeting.

“I didn’t exactly pack.” Her eyes were glued on the steaming plates of food.

“Well, you can borrow something of my mother’s. You can’t walk around in a bloodied dress.”

He thought of bringing up his short panic attack earlier but decided against it. He didn’t want to burden her with the knowledge. Instead, he asked, “did you sleep well?”

The prettiest shade of pink bloomed in her cheeks as she recalled the way she had woken a couple of hours ago. “Very much, thank you.” Enola did not meet his eyes. “What’s all this?”

“Breakfast.” Tewkesbury beamed. “I made us tomato omelettes and mashed potatoes.”

She shook her head slowly. “Look, Tewks, I mustn't. Really, I can’t—”

He cut her off. “I insist.”

“I dunno...”

“Please?”

“I’m very grateful and all but...”

“I made this all for you—I mean us,” he said, sighing. “Just—just let me do this. It’s the least I can do after you saved my life.”

Enola wrung her fingers together as she fidgeted nervously. After a tense minute, finally, she said, “those eggs do look delicious… okay.”

Tewkesbury grinned. Under his breath, he said, “you’re an angel.”

“Sorry?” Enola cocked her head at him.

“I said d’ya want a bagel?”

* * *

Breakfast went by quickly. Too quickly, in fact. Tewkesbury was dreading every second that passed because he knew that as soon as Enola was finished with her meal, nothing would stop her from leaving. He didn’t want her to go.

So, he stalled. When the clock struck eight, he said, “You should see the gazebo near the forest. My father and I built it, and I’m quite proud of how it turned out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Built it when I was nine, too. You’re going to love it.”

“I would like that… but I really do have to get going.”

He looked at her sadly. “Enola, you don’t.”

“Yes I do,” she said, sighing. “It’s only a matter of time before Lestrade tells Sherlock about last night, and he’ll come knocking on your door with Mycroft. They’re going to take me back to the finishing school, and you of all people know how much I hate it, so I have to go.” She said this all in one breath.

Tewkesbury hung his head and stared at his shoes. He sighed. “You’re right.” He nodded slowly. “Of course you are.”

Enola grimaced, allowing time to stretch in between them.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise. Tewkesbury’s heart sped up in the same way it had when the pan collided against the sink. Light abruptly filled the room. The sound of rushed, heavy footsteps made its way closer... as if the person—or people judging from the magnitude of steps—were getting closer and closer. 

Someone was here.

From the corner of his eye, Enola turned bone-white.

And then…

“Where is he?” A woman’s voice echoed outside. “Where’s my son?”

Tewkesbury shot out of his chair and dashed out of the room, a relieved Enola trailing behind him. 

In the living room, he collided with the woman. 

_ Mother, _ he thought longingly, throwing his arms around her. 

“Oh, my boy!” She cried out loud. “I was so worried about you! You were gone for such a long time, and when we found out about your grandmother, we came right away—”

“We’re so glad you’re home,” said another man. Tewkesbury pulled away from his mother and saw his uncle behind her. Whimbrel Tewkesbury, his father’s brother.

“Uncle,” he greeted.

“Are you alright?”

“I am,” said Tewkesbury.

“That was quite the assassination plan.” The older man muttered sadly. “Who would have thought Mother was capable of something like that?”

Tewkesbury bowed his head at his statement. The events of last night inevitably filled his head once again. He was right about to tell them both that he didn’t want to discuss it just yet when his mother said, “Missus May Beatrice Posy! You’re here?”

Enola laughed. “I’m afraid that name was an alias for the time being.” She extended a hand. “My real name is Enola Holmes. Pleased to meet you.”

A crease appeared in between Lady Tewkesbury’s eyebrows, but she shook her hand nonetheless. “Likewise, young lady.”

“Mother, uncle,” he began. “This is Enola. She saved my life.” He said proudly. Enola turned pink and studied her shoes.

“Is that so?” His mother asked, intrigued.

“Thrice, in fact.”

“Thrice?” Whimbrel asked.

“Once on the train, once in the boarding house, and once last night.”

“Well, I’ll be damned!”

“She’s amazing,” said Tewkesbury, smiling at the girl.

“Stop it.” Enola murmured quietly to him.

His mother asked, “however can we repay you?”

Enola looked at her and held up her two hands. “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary, please.”

“You must take seventy pounds.”

“Oh! Oh, no, please. I can’t accept it.”

“Come on, Enola, it’s the least we could do.” Tewkesbury coaxed.

“I can’t, I really can’t.”

“Sixty-five.” Negotiated his mother.

“I’m good, thank you very much.”

“Fifty, then. It’s settled!” Lady Tewkesbury clapped joyfully. Enola opened her mouth to protest, but the older woman spoke before she could. “Take it, darling. It  _ is _ the reward money, after all.”

Enola visually hesitated. She looked at Tewkesbury and he offered her an encouraging smile. Finally, she said, “alright.”

Lady Tewkesbury beamed, reached into her purse, and pulled out twenty pounds. Enola took it reluctantly as it was handed to her. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re very welcome, dear.”

Enola pocketed the money. She turned to Tewkesbury and said, “I guess this is goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Whimbrel turned his head to the young girl. “But we only just got here! You must stay, at least a while. Or at least for a change of clothes.” He said, eyeing Enola’s bloodied garments.

“Yes, there’s always room for you here, with us.”

She smiled. “Thank you kindly, but I have to leave immediately. My brothers are after me, you see, and they mustn’t find out where I am.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, you can borrow a carriage. I assume you’re off to London?”

“I am. Thank you for the offer, but I actually have my own ride.” She and Tewkesbury shared a smirk. “It’s a motor car.”

“Good, good.” She said. “Thank you, Miss Holmes, for bringing back my son. Words cannot express how grateful I am.”

Enola smiled at the woman.

“Walk her out, will you, boy?” Whimbrel patted his nephew on the back twice.

Tewkesbury cocked his head in the direction of the door, silently asking her to follow.

Once they were outside and out of earshot of the two adults, Tewkesbury said, “you’re positive I can’t convince you to stay?”

She chuckled once. “Yes, Tewkes. I am. Thank you, though. For last night. The bath, the bed, the clothes. It was perfect.”

“Anything for you, Enola.” He paused. “You know… once my mother and uncle find out we’ve shared a bed, they’d track you down and make us marry.”

A big smile appeared on her face and her eyes lit up as she laughed boisterously. “I'd like to see them try!”

She looked at him.  _ Really  _ looked at him, and she realized how deep his affections ran for her. Unbeknownst to them, their hearts began beating at the same time, much like it had the night before. When Tewkesbury looked at her, he saw a future. A beautiful future filled with adventures, mischief, and daresay… love. He didn’t know it yet, but his whole world was going to gravitate towards hers from now on.

“Will you come to visit me? On the day we vote in the House of Lords?”

Enola said nothing.

Tewkesbury rambled. “I–I want to be reassured that what I’m doing is the right thing. I just… need to... need to see your face.” He looked down.

Enola reached for his hand and took it. She said, “you’ll be a great addition to the House of Lords. That I am certain.” He lifted his head and their eyes met. She said, “you’re not a  _ complete _ idiot, you know.”

She stepped closer and reached up on her tippy toes to encircle him in a tight hug. Her hands came around his neck, and after two stunned seconds, Tewkesbury pulled her close as well. They stayed that way for some time. Her hair smelled like the flowers and salts he had put in her bath the night before. 

They didn’t quite pull away. Enola stood close, allowing him to plant a chaste kiss of protection on her forehead. She smiled.

No more words were exchanged between the two. He offered his hand to help her mount the motor car, but she playfully swatted it away, silently implying that she did not need his help. He laughed, knowing exactly how true it was.

As the motor car made its way out of Basilwether Hall, Tewkesbury felt as if one end of a string was tied around his heart, and the other, hers. The string tugged harder and harder as the distance between them grew. His eyes never left her silhouette, even as it faded into a tiny speck in the distance. 

There was no denying it.

He was in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy!! I’m so glad you made it this far 💖 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I LOVE YOU ALL!

**Author's Note:**

> hello all! this work is unfinished jus letting u know :)
> 
> i wrote this because i think that so much more things happened on that night that they didn't include like how Tewkesbury confronted his nana after she tried to shoot him and other stuff like that. 
> 
> stay tuned for part 2 (and maybe even 3!!)
> 
> ily.


End file.
